


Something More

by baku_midnight



Category: Transformers: Beast Wars
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Resolved Sexual Tension, Size Difference, Size Kink, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Tactile Sexual Interfacing, i hope it's explicit enough to earn its rating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-09
Updated: 2015-09-09
Packaged: 2018-04-19 21:57:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4762520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baku_midnight/pseuds/baku_midnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dinobot is at least three times bigger than Rattrap. Three times, guys. Just...think on that size difference.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something More

**Author's Note:**

> As is the norm in Transformers art/info of any kind, the sizes of each transformer are kind of nebulous, but I'm pretty convinced that the scale stayed consistent in the Beast Wars series at least, thanks to the magic of programming and rigging skeletons~! And by my calculations, Dinobot has gotta be at least three times bigger than Rattrap. I ran with that.

They did this dance pretty much once an Earth-cycle. Dinobot would say something and Rattrap would immediately disagree, or Rattrap would say something and Dinobot would refuse even to consider it out of reckless spite. Every day, every cycle, every conflict – it was becoming habit. The unmistakeable spark of resentment and irritation, bolstered underneath by some sort of morbid fascination… it drew them to each other, made them stare just a little bit longer than was necessary, talk just a little bit louder despite being centimetres apart. Rattrap found that he couldn’t – physically _could not_ – stop himself from saying something whenever Dinobot walked by. Anything: a comment, an insult, just to get his attention.

 

It was almost becoming an obsession.

 

Today, it wasn’t even a big deal. Something very, very banal that Dinobot had mentioned that Rattrap’s processor apparently thought warranted a very disproportionate response. The result was a spitting match, insults flying back and forth until the two of them stomped off in opposite directions, with bad tastes in their mouths. That was cycles ago.

 

Usually, the pain of their verbal sparring went away in minutes, but this time was different. This time was hard. This time _hurt_.

 

After nearly four cycles, as the sun was starting to dip beyond the horizon of the terra through the narrow windows of the Axalon, Rattrap was actually starting to think about apologizing. Leaning over the console in the main hub, he flicked his finger absent-mindedly across the sliding toggles on the screen, and contemplated actually giving in and saying “sorry”. After all, someone would have to eventually. They couldn’t stay this way forever. And while Rattrap wasn’t accustomed to being the most respectable or humble of Maximals, he was happy to be the bigger bot when it came to a certain sharp-toothed, scaley-legged no-good slagger.

 

But speak of Unicron, and he shall appear. At that moment, Dinobot entered the room.

 

“And _where_ have you been?” Rattrap turned around and asked, suspicious of the lax, almost too-calm way that Dinobot marched across the room, heavy pedal struts making noises on the creaky floor.

 

“Why does it matter to you? You seemed quite keen on the prospect of my unceremonious demise, earlier,” Dinobot retorted, moving closer, his frame twice – maybe _thrice_ – the height of Rattrap’s, causing the smaller bot to tilt his helm significantly skyward in order to meet his gaze. The larger bot looked annoyed, even hurt: the same unreadable expression he always wore, tinted with a bit of spitefulness that felt all too familiar to Rattrap, at the moment.

 

“Are you expecting me to apologize, Choppa-face?” the rat asked, swivelling until his faceplate was turned pointedly away from his larger compatriot.

 

“I wouldn’t expect you to debase yourself in such a way,” Dinobot countered, suddenly reaching out and pressing digits under the plates of Rattrap’s chassis, thick claws drawing down the hinges on his sides, “such a tactful recourse is far beyond you.”

 

Rattrap sneered and attempted to ignore the physical contact, not wanting to let the other bot get any advantage over him. But the claws did not retreat, drawing closer and closer to the center of his chest frame, dangerously near to his spark chamber…

 

“Ain’t got nothin’ against apologizin’ when I’m in the wrong,” Rattrap answered crudely, ventilating air at an increasing pace as clawed digits traced up and down the hinges of his chassis, gently, but always with a threat of something rougher. Those claws could tear his chest plate clean off if they wanted to. Rattrap was running out of words, out of retorts under the expert motions of digits tracing up and down the seams of his armor. “But I wasn’t wrong in sayin’ you’re slag-spoutin’ fraggin’ trash.”

 

“Charming, as always.” Dinobot’s frame was massive and imposing, his expression now smug but still with an unreadable air of sorrow, deep beneath the surface of his plating, dwelling down in his spark. His depth made him all the more intriguing, and all the more suspicious. One never knew what he was thinking. Rattrap stared up, eyes going wider until he caught himself actually leaning closer to the hulking bot’s stark facial topography, and quickly snapped himself out of it.

 

Rattrap sharply turned away, putting his attention back on the computer and away from his teammate. Having him so close was making Rattrap think… _things._ And he would be offline and in the scrapheap before he ’faced with a Pred.

 

Not that he hadn’t been considering the possibility. One well-placed spark would be all it took to ignite the fire they had been kindling for cycles now. Their touches were becoming bolder, and unnecessary, and all too common lately.

 

Rattrap’s servos trembled over the keyboard as Dinobot didn’t back off, instead sidling up against his back, his chestplate hitting Rattrap’s shield with a soft clunk. Massive, long-clawed servos tracked down his arms and settled over his wrist joints. His digits encircled Rattrap’s hands entirely, an indication of his immense size as plain as – well, as the back of Rattrap’s hand.

 

Rattrap rarely went silent for so long, save for the most severe of circumstances, yet he remained quiet, trying to read clues from Dinobot’s movements, the cycling on the back of his helm, the digits, thick and deadly, delicate on his joints. A gentle expulsion of coolant on the back of his neck tingled, cool and fresh.

 

“What’re we doin’ here, Choppa-face?” Rattrap asked softly, a long digit landing on the edge of his jawplate, stroking along the edge and turning his gaze back over his shoulder. Dinobot was looking down at him with utter surety and attention.

 

“Perhaps it is best that we do not attempt to put words to this,” Dinobot mumbled, and Rattrap stared calculatingly at him for a few more moments before letting down his guard for a nanocycle.

 

Suddenly, Rattrap felt his peds leaving the ground as Dinobot turned him around, hoisted him up and against him, dropping Rattrap’s struts around his own pelvic joint, holding him up with one arm like he weighed nothing. Rattrap was too shocked and indignant to reply, suddenly agonisingly mindful of the watchfulness of the security cameras in the main hub, stammering and kicking against Dinobot’s chassis with increasing urgency.

 

“Hey—! What d’you think you’re doin’?” Rattrap stumbled, holding on carefully as Dinobot carried him down the hallway to his berth. He was helpless against the strength of the much larger bot, and short of unbolting a bolt here or there – or straight-up _blasting_ him in the knee-joints – there wasn’t much Rattrap could do to escape.

 

Not that his processor was in any hurry to be free, it seemed. His servos were trembling with anticipation of what was about to happen. And not that he didn’t know, already. He _had_ done this before. But never with a teammate. Okay, only _rarely_ with a teammate. But certainly not with a _Pred_ …

 

Primus, what was he _thinking?_ This was going too far. With a teammate? With Dino-breath? No way. He should run. But even as he protested in his head, Rattrap couldn’t move, joints frozen in place, trembling on the larger bot’s frame with anxious anticipation.

 

They made it down the hall to Dinobot’s berth, which was more than big enough for both of them. The bot placed Rattrap down on the wide space with surprising care, smirking to himself as he sealed the door.

 

“Are we really gonna— _mmph_ ,” Rattrap was cut off mid-protest by a mouth falling against his own, and the spark of energy that zapped between them was enough to completely derail his train of thought. Dinobot climbed over Rattrap, crowding him under his own frame on the berth. Rattrap’s digits reached out and wrapped around Dinobot’s arm joints, pulling fruitlessly against the unbreakable structure that was above him. Their kiss deepened, until Rattrap could taste the lubricant on Dinobot’s jaw plates, which parted wide to engulf his mouth in a swirl of heat and fluid.

 

Dinobot pulled back, sliding a knee in between Rattrap’s slightly-parted stabilizing struts, pushing forward until the sharply curved plate connected with the plate concealing Rattrap’s spike and port. He jerked in surprise, letting out a high-pitched yelp that made Dinobot smirk.

 

“Are you _serious?_ ” Rattrap hissed in confidence, shrinking down into the berth and wiping fluid from the corner of his mouth. He tried drawing his struts together, but Dinobot’s thick thigh prevented it. “This is…you realize there’s no going back from this, right?”

 

Dinobot snarled his impatience, forcibly opening Rattrap’s legs again, making him gasp. “Of course I’m _serious._ Why else do you suppose I brought you back here? to discuss military strategy?”

 

Rattrap frowned and was about to retort, but a servo gently sweeping up the side of his chassis caught him off guard. How did this slagger know all of his weak spots so quickly? Or was it just that around Dinobot, every part of him, every gear and lever, every socket and joint, _became_ a weak spot?

 

“And besides, why would this need to be a permanent arrangement?” Dinobot returned, vox gravelly, “it’s only on a whim I take you. A chance to vent steam. It changes nothing else between us.”

 

Rattrap’s optics narrowed with lust thanks to the agonizing lowness of Dinobot’s voice. Such an arrangement…did sound nice. A bout of the ol’ spike-and-valve, just on a whim, no strings attached. No one had to know. And best of all, no one had to apologize.

 

Rattrap reached up and gentled a digit under the bottom edge of Dinobot’s faceplate, stroking back around until the silver digit disappeared under the back of his helm. Dinobot’s spark shuddered in reply, energy spilling from his tightly-locked joints.

 

“Alright, it’s a deal,” the rat whispered, and pulled the raptor down for another kiss.

 

Dinobot bent down and ground their pelvic plates together, and growling at the sharp prick of electricity that shot all through his lower half. He drove forward with his faceplate sharply against Rattrap’s, sinking long, sharp teeth into the metal of his neck, making the smaller bot jolt in surprise. He then licked the metal flesh dented by his veracity, earning another soft gasp.

 

Rattrap slid one servo down the center of Dinobot’s back, the smooth glide sending chills up both of their chassis when it ended at the top of his aft, planted firmly against the hard, rounded plate. Testing, Rattrap pressed down, drawing Dinobot forward and closer to his body. Their pelvic plates crashed together harder, sending a shockwave of pleasure throughout their mismatched frames.

 

Dinobot hissed and brought a digit up and circled the rim of Rattrap’s chest plate, a long claw one well-placed click away from opening his spark chamber. Rattrap seized immediately, snapping a servo over Dinobot’s.

 

“I…don’t think so,” he whispered, and Dinobot looked down at him with confusion. “That’s just…a _little_ too intimate.”

 

“Very well,” Dinobot answered, backing away and replacing his servo lower on Rattrap’s chassis, “I may have an alternative.”

 

He reached down between Rattrap’s struts, pressing hard on the codpiece to open it and reveal the spike and valve underneath. The spike stood stiffly, locked into place by his arousal and the valve was leaking lubricant as the aperture widened in anticipation.

 

Rattrap watched unashamedly as Dinobot teased his valve with those deft, wild-looking digits, plunging one deep into the narrow orifice, brushing the delicate circuitry inside. He moaned, letting out little, reedy noises as his insides were stimulated, every nudge of Dinobot’s claws sending a new wave of unabashed pleasure through him.

 

Rattrap occupied himself with stroking Dinobot’s back, dipping his digits into the joints at his broad rotators and narrow centre of gravity. His blunt digits came back slick with lubricant, every joint leaking with anxious eagerness. Rattrap knew he didn’t look much better, silvery-blue rivulets of mech fluid dribbling down his face plate and from his aching, pulsing valve and spike. He wondered what Dinobot’s looked like. Not that he _believed_ the urban myth that Preds weren’t built from the same schematics as Maximals, but he couldn’t help but wonder what Dinobot was hiding between his struts.

 

It was probably big. Definitely, it _had_ to be, given his frame’s size. Rattrap felt his processor pacing frantically, fan working desperately to keep up as his imagination and anticipation programs ran wild.

 

Dinobot kept teasing at his valve, sinking in two digits and gauging how the aperture widened to accommodate their width. The attention had Rattrap moaning aloud, clinging at Dinobot’s kneeling frame and forcing his digits into the joints of his hips and struts, making him snarl and push forward.

 

“Just…plug it in, already,” Rattrap whined, ventilating coolant at an alarming pace. He reached down to explore his own pelvic plate, the polished port and enthusiastic plug. He focused his optics downward to see Dinobot open his cod-plate as well, making way for a massive silver plug-shaft to stand pointing directly at the smaller mech.

 

Rattrap’s processor nearly overloaded just with the idea of having that thing anywhere near him. It only made sense that it was so big—the mech himself was one of the largest Rattrap ever had the displeasure of meeting, especially in his robot mode, so clearly he would come with an over-large plug-shaft. But by _Primus_ …he didn’t know they _built_ them that big.

 

“Not backing down now, are you?” Dinobot said with a smugness that was as infuriating as it was alluring. Rattrap felt his optics flicker out a few times as the larger mech bent his stabilizers just so that the electrically-charged tip of his plug brushed the pulsing entry of Rattrap’s port.

 

“Not on your miserable, slaggin’ life,” Rattrap answered, vox punching out of him staticky and grating. His faceplate burned with embarrassed rage as Dinobot continued to smirk and gyrate his hip joints back and forth.

 

“Are you certain, vermin?” Dinobot insisted, “you can see how large my spike is. I wouldn’t want to send you to the CR chambers over something as simple as interfacing.”

 

Rattrap shook his head. _Nothin’ simple ’bout this._ “Not my fault the Preds decided to make you so stupidly huge. Overcompensating much?”

 

Dinobot snarled, the sound sending shocks through the lower half of Rattrap’s substructure, lighting up circuits he didn’t know he had. “It’s only that you are so abnormally miniature.”

 

Before Rattrap could make a retort Dinobot thrust the end of his spike into his valve, forcing the narrow aperture to dilate around the smooth shaft. The opening strained to accept the large intrusion, the big plug forcing the hinges apart until they creaked, snapping open to their absolute limits as the plug sunk in deeper.

 

The smaller mech rolled his helm back in its socket, optics offlining for a brief cycle as Dinobot plunged into him. His stabilizing struts were spread to the point of dislocating as it was; the closer Dinobot’s pelvis came up against his, the further apart it forced his hip joints, until the joints were whining under the strain. His processor felt like it was running at full capacity, sparks lighting up his wiring so frantically he couldn’t process a single thought.

 

“Are you ready to yield?” Dinobot teased with a smirk, and Rattrap, gears running hot and voice glitching, smirked right back.

 

“N-not a chance.”

 

The shaft continued to sink deeper, Rattrap’s narrow port straining to hold it. By Primus, he’d have to _upgrade_ just to _fit_ the thing in him. The larger mech sunk in deeper and deeper, then just before he reached the socket in which to dock his charged spike, he stopped and withdrew.

 

“Oh for the love of… _frag_ me,” Rattrap groaned, offlining his optics, the flash of red light going out as he rolled his helm back and forth on the berth. Coolant was leaking out of the hinge between his helm and optic ridge, trailing down his faceplate in shiny rivulets.

 

Just as he was almost entirely withdrawn, Dinobot drove his spike in again, causing Rattrap’s port to strain to accept him again.

 

“Whaddya think you…!” Rattrap began, beyond processing. The thick shaft drove into him again and again, never deep enough to dock, but the electrified tip sparked every time it neared Rattrap’s ready socket, deep inside him.

 

“I suppose I _have_ learned something from our bestial counterparts,” Dinobot answered, voice low and grasping. There was no need to thrust in and out like this in order to achieve interface, yet the feeling of Dinobot’s thick shaft pushing in and out of him over and _over_ just made the feeling yet more intense, the anticipation startling. He was acting like…well, like the earth creatures upon which their altmodes were based. Thrusting in and out, pumping his hips between Rattrap’s struts. What should’ve been embarrassing and a shocking breach of interface conduct was…incredibly arousing.

 

The Rattrap’s head was swimming. He couldn’t help but think about himself as an animal, an alien creature made familiar after cycles of living in its skin – mounted and mated, pinned by the larger beast, forced to submit by his prowess… He could barely process straight, much less figure out where the mech ended and the beast began.

 

Suddenly, Dinobot pulled out, leaving Rattrap grasping frantically down at him with slender silver digits.

 

“Wh-what—?” he gasped, finding his voice struggling even more, coolant splashing down his helm and into his open mouth. He reached for Dinobot’s pelvic plate but got nowhere near his target before the larger bot grabbed him by the hips, as easily as if he weighed nothing, and flipped him over onto his front. Rattrap whined as his chest plate collided with the berth, digits scrabbling for purchase over the edge when Dinobot’s spike plunged into him again, this time from behind, mounting him fully.

 

“Oh!” Rattrap moaned, hissing with the renewed pressure on his joints, the _hugeness_ of the bot inside him. Dinobot’s thrusts surged ever deeper, the tip of his super-charged plug drawing closer to Rattrap’s port with each slide, until it was nanometers from connecting, and Rattrap started to push his hips up towards the larger bot, who responded by pinning his arms with two huge-clawed servos.

 

“I ain’t—oh, _by Primus_ ,” Rattrap moaned, voice tinny even to him, back bowing as he arched up to encourage Dinobot deeper. “I ain’t…goin’…nowhere,” he breathed, “so just… _frag me!_ ” He was intaking frantically as interface drew closer and closer, the drag of a smooth shaft against his hyper-sensitive channel driving him nearly out of his processor until it finally sunk in the whole way, punching the air from Rattrap’s intakes as it came.

 

Dinobot connected with him and the feedback was so startling Rattrap thought he’d shorted out. Some of his joints had to be fried, the immensity of energy flowing from one mech to the other and back again nearly too much for Rattrap to handle, his optics went dark and his back arched instinctively up as the light of completion blazed through him.

 

Dinobot seemed just as overwhelmed, collapsing forward on his struts until he was pinning Rattrap beneath him, as feedback swirled around his helm like a galaxy, expanding ever outwards. With a last ounce of strength he butted the back of Rattrap’s helm with his own, before lying atop him, exhausted.

 

Intake gradually slowing to reasonable levels, Rattrap ignored the cool-down warning blasting across his HUD in favour of turning his head, and crowding Dinobot’s mouthplate with a kiss. It was sweet, however clumsy, and Dinobot returned it with vigor, the sharp taste of him lingering in Rattrap’s sensors as he turned away, nearly flattening himself to the berth. He could still feel Dinobot’s plug inside him; if it stayed much longer he was worried their frames would fuse that way, so close were they connected.

 

“You…weigh a ton,” Rattrap hissed, trying to ease Dinobot off of him by swaying his hips, which were mercilessly pinned to the berth, back and forth.

 

“Make that three,” Dinobot corrected teasingly, pulling away, deliberately removing his spike. The shaft gleamed with fluid, his and Rattrap’s, and he looked down for a moment at the way Rattrap’s valve retracted as he withdrew, the tiny hole trying to regain its former shape.

 

“That was…” Rattrap tried to parse the feeling of being so overwhelmed after interface he could still barely see, “that was.” He concluded, remembering Dinobot’s advice that they shouldn’t put words to this. But despite any attempts to make this casual, lighthearted, typical – well, there was nothing typical about what they just did.

 

“Indeed,” Dinobot seemed to agree, carefully swiping the excess lube from the front of his cuisses. He sat up on his knees, pushing Rattrap’s still frame to the side to lie beside him in the berth.

 

“I don’t think I’ll be able to walk for a decacycle,” Rattrap moaned, practically able to _hear_ Dinobot’s pleased smirk at the admission. He rolled his optics but rolled onto his side anyway, leaning into the larger mech’s chestplate, placing both petit servos on the thick rubber of his outer skin.

 

They seemed to connect somehow, like two circuits running parallel, and the feeling wasn’t as horrible as Rattrap’s imagination program had made it out to be. He liked this new synchronicity; knowing where the ex-Pred stood would mean their arguments would be a lot less damaging. And if this was all it took to get to a place where they could dialogue smoothly, well, maybe they should’ve done this a while ago.

 

Rattrap smiled a little to himself and was about to comment that his weakened structure only meant that Dinobot would have to shuttle him around everywhere, when the larger bot, as if reading his mind, spouted something along the same lines.

 

“I’ll just have to carry you everywhere,” Dinobot grinned, and Rattrap’s optics widened and his faceplate went  red-hot in nanoseconds.

 

“As if!” he hissed, kicking Dinobot in the shin-plates and shoving at his chest. The other mech’s smug grin didn’t fade and Rattrap realized that maybe this connection – like the ache in his struts – would take some getting used to. But he was willing to give it time.


End file.
